What's the big deal about hatch chiles?

The Chron's Abigail Rosenthal considers the much-hyped pepper:

There are a few particular agricultural seasons Texans always look forward to: pecan season, peach season, grapefruit season, and, of course, hatch chile season. 

And judging by H-E-B's display, hatch chile season is a marquee event.

Hatch chiles are specifically grown in the Hatch Valley in New Mexico—it's not really a hatch chile unless it was grown there, much like a sparkling wine isn't champagne unless it was produced in the Champagne province of France. Their season is relatively short too, only occurring in August and September each year.  

But some don't buy into the hype. One Chron editor, in particular, has said hatch chiles are basically just poblanos and not worth all the banners and specially made products. We collectively scoffed and shook our heads, tuning out this blasphemy.  

Every August, when I walk into an HEB, I am so inundated by hatch chile products that I feel I'm in a scene from Forrest Gump: “Well, let’s see... There’s hatch chile cheese, hatch chile chicken, hatch chile sausage, hatch chile chips, hatch chile shrimp, hatch chile pasta, hatch chile salsa, hatch chile bacon, hatch chile beer...” While I do enjoy some of the hatch chile products that appear in HEB during that month, it also strikes me as a bit over the top. Are these chiles really that special?

                                                                                                                 Fresh hatch chiles at Central Market on Westheimer

The hatch chile is simply a type of New Mexico Chile, which itself is a cultivar of Capiscum annuum. This species of chile pepper includes the anaheim, cayenne, jalapeño, poblano, and serrano. There are multiple types of New Mexico Chile, varying in size, color and amount of Scoville Heat Units they contain. As Rosenthal notes, the "hatch chile" is specific to chiles grown in the Hatch Valley, which is located along the Rio Grande north of Las Cruces. 

Perhaps that valley possesses a "terroir" - the amount of sun it gets, the composition of the soil there - that imbues a specific flavor to the hatch chile. I'm admittedly not a chile pepper connoisseur, so I may be missing out on the subtleties and nuances of the hatch that makes it so distinctive and deserving of the marketing hype bestowed upon it by HEB and other grocers.

Rosenthal put the hatch chile to a (taste) test, creating one salsa with it and and another salsa with its cousin, the poblano pepper:

The salsas had subtle differences, but among the Chron staff tasters, they were almost indiscernible (and in need of some jalapeños). Our social media editor Sarah Pearce summed it up best: "If I was given the salsas separately at a taco truck, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

The hatch chile salsa was a bit sweeter, brighter and had a little more zing, while the poblano salsa was earthier. Both were delicious, but our two blind taste testers couldn't correctly guess which salsa was made with hatch chiles. 

Rosenthal concludes that the poblano is a perfectly acceptable, year-round substitute for the hatch. Which is good, because it - and its hype - won't be back for another year.